


What's Yours Is Mine

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [58]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exes, F/M, Makeup, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy was in an accident--a minor one, but an accident all the same.</p><p>It terrifies Clarke when she gets the call from the hospital, but a little terribly selfish part of her is glad that, months after their break-up and months of missing him, she gets to see Bellamy again. And just maybe, since she was still the one they called, that he misses her too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Yours Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: He put down Clarke as his emergency contact but he never thought he'd actually need to use it.

Tears blur her eyes, so for a second, she isn’t sure it’s him. Then she hears him thank one of the nurses, in that low rumble of his, and relief washes over her. It’s Bellamy, and he’s okay. 

He is sitting upright on the bed, wincing as the myriad of cuts on his face are cleaned. Arm in a sling seems to be the worst of his injuries, and she can only imagine how much he will  complain about not being able to grade papers properly with it trussed up like that. His hair is a mess, more than it usually is–or was, Clarke realizes. She wouldn’t know now, not after months apart.

She lingers in the hallway, coat tucked tightly around her. Nervous, she stays out of sight of the window to the ER side room where Bellamy is being treated. It feels stupid to stand out here, paused, on hold when she had practically flown to the hospital after getting the call, fear pulsing in her veins.

_This is Mt. Weather Memorial. We’re calling you on behalf of Bellamy Blake, as  you are his listed contact. He has been in an accident. Please report to the emergency room intake desk for more information._

It was a miracle that she hadn’t gotten into an accident herself on the way here, frantic as she had been. Now, though, only a room away from him, reality came crashing back. The last time Clarke had seen him was on that rainy Saturday afternoon, when he had walked out of her apartment with his last box of belongings, walked out of her life without a second glance back.

She really couldn’t blame him alone for their implosion though; he wouldn’t have walked away if she hadn’t given him the push to do so first. Neither of them were innocent, both guilty of throwing unjustified accusations and hurtful words at each other in those last few weeks, months even. Fear had seized her then too–fear of commitment, fear of being able to fall apart in his arms without breaking, fear of letting herself belong to someone that much. 

Now, though, as she watches the nurse begin to stitch up his cuts–cuts made from the shattered glass or sharp metal of his crashed car–she realizes how inconsequential that type of fear was. 

So, when the nurse finishes, she takes a deep breath and walks into the room.

“Clarke?”

Everything in her unravels at the surprise and wariness in his voice as he says her name. 

“Hi,” she chokes up, the tears she so valiantly fought back earlier rising to the surface again, traitors that they were. “You’re okay.”

“Why are you–”

“I’m still your emergency contact, I guess.”

He drops his head, exhaling, before looking up apologetically. “It slipped my mind. I’ll change it right off. Today. I never thought–”

“It’s alright.” She musters up a weak smile, needing to reassure him–of what, she has no idea. 

She still remembers the day he sliced his hand open while cooking dinner–she had been at the hospital, so the idiot had driven himself to the ER–and how he had gotten an admonishing but fond earful from Octavia when she was dragged away from work to meet him there.

_You live with your girlfriend of two years, dumbass. Let her be your contact and deal with your clumsiness now–god knows I’ve put in my time._  

So he had filled out the form and mentioned the switch to her sometime later that week, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal for a Blake sibling to rely on someone other than family first. Despite his forced nonchalance, she had smiled goofily at him, at his trust, her heart feeling too big for her chest. 

Now her chest felt too big for her heart, which was shrinking the longer she looked at him and his stoic, injured face. 

“Are you–”

“You can le–”

They both look away, and Clarke never hated the dingy hospital floor more, forced to stare at it out of uncomfortability, a sensation she had never, not in all her years of knowing Bellamy, felt around him. 

“You’re okay?” She finally manages to ask in a swell of bravery.

“I’m okay.”

He looks at her with such focus that her heart squeezes.  _He’s okay,_ and somehow, despite that being a good thing, it breaks her heart. 

“I’ll go, then.” 

Something flickers in his eyes, but she turns too quickly to find out what it is. A soft rustling sounds behind her, and just as she gets to the door, there is a soft tug at the crook of her elbow. He is there, right there, a wall of solidness, steadiness, as close to her front as the door jam is to her back. 

“That’s my jacket,” he says, staring down at her with those dark eyes she hasn’t been able to forget, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many times she sketched them, as if that would purge her of them haunting her.

“Sorry,” she mutters, heat rising on her cheeks as she starts to shrug off the last bit of him she has left.

His hand cups her shoulder, the pressure much too familiar, even after months of separation. He slides it up, settling the coat back on, his thumb brushing the collar. She swallows, wondering if the rough drag of his fingers would still send the same type of burning heat spiraling across her skin. 

“It’s okay,” he says hoarsely. “It’s–okay.” 

His eyes flick downwards, and her pulse spikes, but then his gaze shutters and he steps away.

She speeds out of the room before she lets desperate words spill from her lips– _I need you, I want you, I shouldn’t have let you go._ Because months later, he is okay, but she is not, and she can’t bear to let him see her break now, not when she would have to pick up the pieces on her own.

* * *

Two weeks later, her phone rings, his name and the picture of her kissing his cheek while he scrunched his face in mock disgust flashing on the screen.

She had never bothered to switch it, just like she had never bothered to return his coat.

“I didn’t change it,” he says when she picks up, his voice cautious but light at the same time. “My contact info. You’re still it.”

_You’re still it_ –the weight of his words settle warmly in her gut, and she laughs into the phone, a watery sound that makes him sigh in relief and maybe a little bit of pent-up regret.

“I’m not giving your coat back,” she warns, leaning back on the couch as the sunlight streaming in through the window warms her cheeks.

“Fair enough.” He pauses, and she bets ten-to-one he has a hand in his hair, tugging lightly on his curls. “I missed you.”

She smiles, knowing it won’t be any easier with him this time around, but it will be better. “I missed you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


End file.
